The Jailer
by Hemi Typed Backwards
Summary: She had only wanted to see Wilfre, but to create something far worse than him to see him? Things were getting out of hand. WilfrexCreator Minor!SamuelxHero
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to my story, lovelies. This is my first DtL fic, so please point out any horrible, horrible mistakes. No, leaving out the second game does not count as a mistake.**

**Warnings: Second game is left out, FC whom is important to the plot (but not from his POV), taking canon background characters and giving them names and personalities, very unusual pairings, death of a character, already dead Wiflre, Creator bashing (by Wilfre and one other character who will not be revealed atm), Creator getting a name and Raposa form, Creator being emotional and then rebounding from grief to an almost completely different personality by fourth chapter (yeah, well, finding out you can see someone who's dead and near and dear to you would make you happy too)**

**Tried to make everything believable, but it's DRAWN TO LIFE and the main character is THE CREATOR. Very broad lines to be believable there.**

**I think that's all the warnings for the whole story... Well, let's start, then! Enjoy!**

_Gone is the Flare_

The Creator loved all of her creations.

She knew now that pouring so much love and care, so much personality and free will, could be dangerous. She also knew that if one of her beloved Raposa turned on her, it hurt. If they turned on her as Wilfre did, taking the book she used to give them so much and using it for evil purposes, it didn't just hurt. It ached and throbbed and burned in her chest, pained her worse than any ailment she could have gotten.

Since then, since little Mari had called to her, since Lime the Hero had been created, since the tragedy had occurred and a new love had spawned, The Creator had learned a lot. She had learned to open her heart again, to let the creations spill forth with vibrant life and color again, she mourned again, and she loved again.

After the defeat of Wilfre, she learned that losing a creation by her own special made medium, even one that had turned so terribly against her and wounded her, was awful. The Creator did not lock herself away. She merely wept, and the tears came free from her eyelashes in dark hues; violets, blues, deep reds, and even grays. It rained those colors in the village that day, and every once in a while after.

The Creator never turned her back to the Raposa, no matter how upset she became. In fact, she created a design for herself, a pure white Raposa with hair that fell straight past her shoulders and a bright, peachy face. This Raposa was not a hero, but The Creator herself. She still knew all that happened when she entered her creations and took that form, could still create with a flick of her wrist. Of course, she still worked in her plain white room when she felt she needed to, but when things seemed slower, with less designing to do, The Creator transformed and entered the village, or perhaps another place.

This form needed a name, but how does one give a name to The Creator of all things? She mulled over it for several days, painting, drawing, sketching, adding a special touch of life to someone's belly, and designing, but always wondering what to call herself as a Raposa. Nothing came easily, but it hit her suddenly and completely on the fifth day.

Reeth.

She would call herself Reeth.

The Creator, having given herself a name for the first time since the start of creation, entered her world the next day. Everyone was kind to her, it seemed, whether it was Mari (kind by nature, always had been, even as a child) to Bark (insane for sure, but not hard to get along with if you didn't go for his rock). Perhaps they were all kind because Reeth knew how their minds worked. She had not made their personalities- that had come from the brush strokes, her emotions while painting, and inspiration from life events –but she knew them all too well from watching them as little Rapos.

Nonetheless, she enjoyed interacting with them. She was positively ecstatic about it, even if they didn't know she was The Creator. It always seemed wonderful up until she saw Indee and Pirate Beard conversing. She saw the gray fur, the lack of ponytail, and thought, _Wilfre, why aren't you talking with them? Why did you become so cruel? Is it my fault? _

_**Yes,**_ said the wicked little voice in the back of Reeth's head. _**It's all your fault. You should have let the Raposa create, you should have corrected Wilfre's problem earlier, you could have saved him. **_Tears welled in Reeth's eyes, red tears that looked like blood and stained her fur. Clouds moved in overhead, heavy with rain. The blood-tears started to fall, and the red rain poured like gore. Other Raposa dove for cover, but Reeth stayed there, crouched, crimson staining her fur and turning her into a guilty, bloody mess.

There was a _click-click-clicking_ and the white Raposa saw the feet of Lime, Lime the Hero. "Are you alright?" Lime asked, her voice normal. She _was_ normal, a ginger Raposa with dirty blonde hair and a tannish face and a green feather sticking out behind one of her ears. The only odd thing about her was that steady _click-click_ that she emitted when she walked, like her wooden joints were a little too loose and had to clink together as she walked. Lime was perhaps the only one who saw Reeth as The Creator, the only one who suspected, probably because she was imbued with Reeth's power and magic.

"Oh Lime," the white Raposa said, quelling her tears for a moment. "You are so very, very sweet." She left off the _'Why did I create you to kill? Why couldn't you have been normally born?' _and instead opted to hug the mannequin, the hero. "You are so special. I hope you have many years of peace." Tears still brimmed at Reeth's eyes, sorrow shining deep within them. Lime took her paw, led her to the beach, not the ever-crowded North Beach, but the secret beach.

The Kori trees were looking great, their flaming orange leaves and bright red fruit healthy as can be. Lime went over to them after asking Reeth to wait a moment, grabbed a pair of Kori fruits. They were ripe-looking, deliciously-scented, and as Lime handed her one, The Creator bit into it immediately. The sharp, tangy flavor hit her taste buds, and although it didn't make the ache go away, it quieted her snuffles and stopped the salty red water from falling from her eyes.

Shortly thereafter, in the quiet as the two Raposa ate, the downpour stopped and the rainclouds rolled away. _Splish! _Lime threw the pit of her fruit into far out into the ocean and turned to The Creator, her face serious and a tad solemn, almost unreadable by normal Rapo-standards. "I think you're in love with him."

There are many ways to react to that statement when it comes from out of the blue, so many ways that Reeth didn't know how to. She knew, as she usually did, who Lime was talking about, what the Hero was proposing. The thought was also not completely preposterous; Reeth loved all of her creations, and it was not impossible that she had gotten carried away. She had put so much time and effort into his design, such a _passion_.

When Reeth didn't say anything, Lime repeated and clarified. "I think you're in love with Wilfre." The Hero did not sound happy about this. Why should she be, if The Creator was in love with her worst enemy, and her **dead **worst enemy, at that. Thankfully, Lime also did not express the anger she felt, although Reeth knew she felt it. "I don't want to know why," she continued on, and that was a lie, the other Raposa knew, "I'm more concerned about the way the village has been losing life. Everything seems the same, like no one else notices, but I do. That special flare is gone because you aren't happy, Reeth. Make yourself happy."

Lime walked away after she deduced she had made her point, leaving Reeth a bit shocked. She had seen into the Hero's mind (_the only Rapo's mind she could fully see because of their connection) _, seen what she was talking about, and it was insane. Ridiculous! Impossible! The Creator could not simply return Wilfre to life! What in the world was Lime thinking? Reeth couldn't do that, disobey the laws of Life and Death that she herself had set, even for love-

(_because it was a one-sided love or because she wasn't certain she was in love or perhaps because she thought he would let her get closer and then rip her to shreds again but was it __**worth the risk**_)

-but she could make a Raposa that could.


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh, jeez, kids. It's been awhile. Sorry about that. It's actually a pretty sad story: I had this chapter (along with a few more chapters) written out. Then I got slackerish and stopped writing new chapters, stopped playing Drawn to Life (although I still think it's awesome, I beat it, so what's the point in playing it, right?), and got out of the writing style I used for this story (which sucks, because I really like this style) In other words: Even though I have the next three or so chapters written out... you may not be seeing any more chapters after that. It sucks more cuz I had pretty much the whole story outlined. Ugh, I hate it when I get distracted. If I ever feel that I can keep on writing I will definitely try, because it would be a shame to let this plot go to waste.**

**Well, enough of that. Without further adieu... the second chapter! Enjoy please!**

_The Jailer_

Reeth fled to her workroom, her Studio, if you will, for a few days, retaking her more powerful form to create perhaps the most powerful Raposa in existence. He would not be as physically strong as the Hero, but in his magic he would be practically unbeatable. It was needed for the traverser of Life and Death, the one who kept tabs on the evil dead Rapos and the great deceased mayors.

His title was The Jailer, because Death was like a jail in many ways, and he was made to guard that jail, to keep it locked and also to keep them from escaping. In his portrait, he was a lightly colored, yellowish Raposa with shaggy, longer-than-most-others' hair, and a black outfit. All sorts of keys dangled from his belt, big and small, old and new, and their numbers seemed almost infinite. Who could tell how many Raposa died and thus how many keys there were for each and every cell?

The Jailer could.

He was not born and he could not die of old age; he did not age. He could get killed, but otherwise he would not die. If he died, his keys would vanish so that no one could escape Death. Reeth stared at the finished painting, more of a reference sheet, and then imbued it with her energy. After that, his name almost seemed to flow out of her brush as she signed it in the corner.

_**Oz.**_ An interesting name, short and sweet. It was definitely his name, suiting him wonderfully for reasons The Creator herself barely knew. It only nudged at the edge of her mind's eye, a curiously faint thought, before it slipped away and was gone. As soon as she signed his name, he appeared on North Beach in the dead of night. Excited and slightly scared at how happy she was that she would be able to visit Wilfre, The Creator transformed into her Raposa form and placed herself near the Island Gate.

She walked through the trees and peeked out from behind one of them at Oz, who did not seem startled at all that he had just appeared out of nowhere. In fact, the blond guard just beckoned her out of the trees with a steady paw, a small quirk to his lip that was a queer sort of smile. His eyes, Reeth decided, were a tad scary. They were buttons like all the other Raposa, black, and by all means should have been adorable. For some reason, though, those eyes were beady and shineless in The Creator's opinion, haunted by something that she did not quite know. It wasn't like she was a mind reader; Reeth was just very good at predicting actions and thoughts, and since she knew nothing of Oz's personality, his face was foreign and slightly terrifying.

The white Rapo started toward him, and as she did so, he took a small key off his belt with a spade for the head. It was brass in color and an altogether interesting little object, and it was all the more interesting when Oz thrust the key into open air. The nothingness quickly colored into something, something The Creator had not planned. It was a door, which made sense, but the door was more like a gate, a dark, shadowy gate with depictions of gargoyles with burning red eyes, of bones and fire.

Glancing at Oz, who nodded an affirmative, Reeth opened the door with a flick of her wrist and walked in. Immediately, there was a roaring noise that made her large, sensitive ears flatten in an attempt to muffle it. Afterwards, a feeling of great loneliness filled her, and she realized the roar was nothing but silence. There was darkness in this place, in Oz's world, and it was not the Shadows that Wilfre had created.

This great gaping feeling, the nothing-but-blackness, terrified her more than she could have imagined. Reeth bucked up and ignored it, although she wanted to slump to the ground in despair because of the oppressive atmosphere. She had to just take it because she was The Creator and she **would not** be scared by atmosphere. Instead, Reeth walked on with her face set in a determined expression, ignoring the way the air chilled her bones.

Soon she found that the only source of light was herself. Whether this was because she was alive or because she was The Creator, she did not now. That faint wash of light that illuminated a few steps in front of her was comforting, because even without knowing where she was going, a lantern would help guide her there. The light radiating from her was not nearly as bright as a lantern, but it did the trick.

In who knows how many steps (other than that it was too long), Reeth found a steel peg thrust into the blackness of the ground, a chain wrapped around it and staked down by it. The chain trailed away from her until she could see it anymore.

_Clink-tink. _The sound of a moving chain.

"Hello, Creator."

That voice was smooth and deep, as charismatic as it had been before he'd been twisted into that shadow form that made him sound like someone had shoved tar down his throat. At the same time, it was almost as bad because of the snarl to his voice, the sneer that would be so plainly on his face. Reeth turned to look at Wilfre, almost hurt by the ugly expression on his face. Nonetheless, she smiled slightly at him, glad to see his regularity. He was still gray, still wearing a little suit, still had the cute ponytail she could remember painting so delicately.

In fact, the only thing that had changed was the ice at the tips of his ears. The live Rapo had no idea where it had come from because she had never included it in her laws of Death. "How did you know I was The Creator, Wilfre?" She spoke his name so warmly it was hard to believe he could still look at her with such contempt, or to doubt that she truly did love him.

"I'm dead. I know most of everything," Wilfre said, looking smug and slightly disgusted at the same time. "I know you supposedly love me, for instance. How strange that The Creator who was so selfish could love the one who brought her down a few pegs. Now she walks as a Raposa," there it was again, the odd mix of pride and disgust, although a bit of mocking cruelty was thrown in to twist his words. Reeth also saw a smidgen of honest curiosity in his eyes, but it was so small she decided not to press on it.

"I suppose I should thank you for that," she admitted amiably, referring to how she became a Raposa, which seemed to shock the spirit. "It is nice to walk with my creations; different than just watching them, and I do owe it to you, even if it's in sort of twisted way." Wilfre fingered his tie for a moment, genuinely confused, before a puzzled sort of arrogance came over his face. His lips twisted into a grin that was more of a grimace.

The gray Raposa gave his nasty snicker, dropping his paw away from the black tie. "You're really enamored with me, huh? What a disturbing little thing you are!" He drew closer, and Reeth blinked at the freezing cold that radiated from his body, shivered a bit at the eerie way his face was illuminated by her white light. The Creator merely smiled, finding it easier than she had suspected to take every facial expression, every cruel curve to his voice. "I would ask why, but I suspect the answer would be something idiotic."

As his eyes narrowed with the derisiveness of his statement, Reeth opened her mouth to take a breath (and maybe say something) and caught a hint of his scent. It was sweet but masked with the cloying, dizzying scent of dead flesh; it made her nose wrinkle and her insides quiver. She regained her train of thought and spoke, her voice straight as she expected, although it wanted to shake with terror. "I love you because I always have, Wilfre. When I painted you, you flew off the brush with such certainty and brilliance and as you grew, I found myself admiring you often, if I recall." It was all true, though she had not thought much of it until the last few days, because of Lime.

Wilfre's sardonic snort told her what he thought of that. "You don't love me; you don't love any Raposa. We're just your play things in this big old canvas and you won't share any of the brushes." Reeth shook her head at this. It was so obviously untrue.

"I love and will continue to love all of my creations. **You **are a shining example of why I can't give others the ability to create. While it is true that I enjoy watching some events in Raposas' life, it is more that I want to give them the best existence they can receive," satisfied that she had countered Wilfre's argument, Reeth fell quiet. As she suspected would happen, his face set in a grim scowl, disbelief and anger shining in his eyes like beacons to warn her of how badly this could turn. In an action so instinctual (but oh so bold) she barely realized she was doing it, Reeth leaned forward in a sort of comforting gesture and their faces touched. It wasn't a kiss, was barely remotely intimate, but a spark passed between them.

This was not a romantic spark, not by a long shot; it could not even be mistaken for one. Something far more mysterious was at work, something The Creator herself had no clue about. In the split second their faces were touching before Wilfre jerked away, rigid with shock, the faint white light surrounding Reeth took to the spirit as well and grew to illuminate several yards around them. The chains and collar round his neck rattled so fiercely it seemed they were going to break, pull apart and scatter across the black floor.

Ice shot through Reeth's veins when Wilfre pulled away, and instantaneously she felt woozy. Never in her existence had The Creator felt _woozy, _and so she did the only logical thing. She picked up her skirt and she ran, Wilfre still shell-shocked behind her. When she was far enough away, she flicked her wrist and the gate opened out of nowhere in front of her. Warm, salty sea air flooded in, and Oz smiled that unusual smile at her.

"Have a nice time, Reeth?" He asked, and his voice was kind of hollow.

The Creator barely hesitated, but she did, and his eyes flashed as she did. "Certainly. Thank you, Oz," her voice came out primly, with forced politeness, and she hurried past him as he locked the door.

"Not a problem," Oz replied at a quiet volume, although she was already a good distance away. His eyes followed her almost blankly, but there was the strangest emotion hinting up in them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Man, how long has it been? Sorry guys, this is just another prewritten chapter. There are, like, two more of these and then the story is pretty dead unless I pick up DtL again, and then I have to try to get back into the writing style... sigh. I hate getting distracted so much. Well, enjoy!**_  
><em>

_A Short Interlude_

"_**OH MY GOSH NO WAY!"**_

"_**IT'S TRUE I SWEAR IT'S TRUE!"**_

Lime tuned out Rylee and Nymph, Navy J's lovely fan girls, with the best of intentions; it wasn't that she didn't want to listen. Their conversations just tended to repeatedly circle the same subject for hours and hours. For instance:

Apparently, Navy J had kissed Nymph on the cheek in a bout of romanticism (Lime suspected it was more pity, fear, or maybe he was being flirty- she would put none of it past him.) and the two had done nothing but talk about it and replay it over and over again with loud, shrill voices. The story got a little more exaggerated each time Nymph retold it, one version even going so far as to say 'He pinned me against a tree ! He licked my cheek!' The Hero doubted that was true, but she didn't burst their bubble because one; it would make them severely unhappy and two; unhappy fan girls were vicious and angry.

Her ears bobbing as she glanced around and then back at the girls who squealed in front of her, Lime decided it would be best if she left. She barely understood how she had been roped into the conversation; the rapo had just made a little interested noise as she had walked by and heard Nymph yell '_**HE KISSED ME!'. **_The Hero took a few tentative steps away and when no one called her out, she left rather quickly.

Heading south toward the forest gate but with no intention of actually leaving through it, Lime felt a warm thrill at the sight of Samuel just outside it. She smiled, waved, and called out. "Hey, Samuel!" The monkish Raposa returned her smile, although it was barely visible beneath his hood. Sometimes Lime just wanted to yank the thing right off his head; hats and hoods annoyed her so much. It was an unusual quirk, but she just couldn't help it. It was there and there was no changing it, so she just had to control it.

"Hello," he replied when she was close enough to be in hearing range of his voice. It struck the Hero as odd when a full grown Raposa had such a quiet voice, and she wondered presently if it was naturally like that or if he was consciously making himself quieter. Lime asked as such, although more politely, which warranted a tiny, breathy chuckle from the other. "No, I am normally just this quiet." The blond Hero smiled at the sound of the laugh more than the actual answer as she sat down next to him.

"That's kind of adorable," Lime voiced her opinion, and the warmth in her belly reminded her of Reeth. Reeth, who was in love with her enemy, both their enemies. All the fuzzy, crushy puppy-love dropped away like a stone. Lime had hoped she was wrong about it, but The Creator hadn't denied what she had been accused of. At the same time, The Hero was kind of happy, because the little flare, that little spark, would return to the village if Reeth revived Wilfre. Her thoughts looped to the other direction: _What if Wilfre tries to get his revenge or hurts her? We could be stuck without The Creator again! Why did I tell her to revive him?_

Samuel gave her a concerned look that was invisible because of his hood. "Something is troubling you," Lime opened her mouth to deny it, but the other Rapo shook his head, "Shush. I also know that it is not something you want to share, and I would rather you not lie to me and disagree. I will not press if you are only going to be adamant in not telling me."

_Why bring it up, then?_ Lime thought, but she was thankful and ducked her head in agreement. "You're a good friend, Samuel," she said, and, somewhat giving in to his bout of reverse psychology, started talking. "I have this rapo-buddy," The Hero declared, adopting a page out of the book of Rylee and Nymph, teenage gossip extraordinaires, "who is in love with someone that she shouldn't be with, but I want her to be happy." That was close to the truth.

Seeming faintly uncomfortable breaching the subject, Samuel nodded. "I see. The best advice I can give your friend is that she should follow her heart but look for logic's red flags," his words, as they usually seemed to be, were wise and made perfect sense. Then again, Reeth's red flags probably should have already gone up by now, considering whom it was she was going after. At a loss, Lime thanked her friend, got up, and went to leave.

A paw caught the back of her shirt, almost too brashly for her to believe it was Samuel who had done it. "Oh, and Lime," he muttered quietly, sounding kind of _scared__**, "**_Be careful. Something's not right in the air." Lime blinked and nodded, startled, feeling her feather ghost across the tip of her ear as he let go. Did he, too, sense that the flare was gone? That something was amiss from the Village?

It was really too bad that what Samuel was talking about was **not**, in fact, the missing spark of the village, but a terrible, invisible cloud that was crackling over it, just waiting to spill its contents, and when it did? Something wicked would happen.


	4. Chapter 4

_Minus Nymph_

Holding tight to her brush, The Creator splashed a few clouds across the well-painted sky. She was still shaken from her earlier encounter with Wilfre, although her dizziness had since lifted. All it left was a memory of mild nausea and the desire to paint more. As she quelled the latter urge, Reeth let her mind wander away, to a place far away from the current stressful memories. Wilfre, the sickness, that bright light, it all trickled away under the calming influence of her meditation. She didn't need to think about what she was painting and just let it flow from the brush, staring off to the far white wall of her Studio.

When she finally came out of her trance, her hand had stopped moving and the picture she had painted worried her. Lime, Mari, Jowee, Navy J, Cricket, and Rylee were searching, searching for something. What that something was, Reeth had no idea, but as she stared into that painting, another figure in the back drew her attention. He was pale yellow, with blank eyes and an odd smile- Oz. Oz was staring directly at her from the back of her own picture. Everyone else was engaged in looking around, but his gaze was glued to her.

Shuddering, The Creator turned the canvas around on the easel. The fact that she had painted Oz just staring meant something; probably that he knew what the other Raposa had been searching for and he knew where it was. Why in the world had he been staring at _her_, though? Was he calling her out? Just watching her? Whatever the reason, it gave Reeth the heebie jeebies. She felt that she had to be there to figure out what was going on, even though she knew she could just pull up a canvas and the storyboard for the whole day would fly out of her brush.

There was something wrong with wanting to go to her world instead of taking the easier way, she knew there was, but she didn't know what and she didn't know why. Reeth found herself transforming into a Raposa anyway, landing herself near the police department. Fortunately, there were no other Rapos there to see her appear out of nowhere, and she reminded herself to be more careful next time. She didn't have time to think about it, though, because from around the corner came Sheriff Cricket. His eyes widened as he saw her, but the surprise quickly went out of them.

"Afternoon, Reeth. I don't have time to chat; Nymph's missing. Mind helping us look?"

Nymph? Why was Nymph missing? For that matter, where had she gone? Reeth couldn't see the entire village in this form like she could if she was in her Studio, but she could sense everyone inside and outside its boundaries. Here, she could feel Cricket's presence, there, she could feel Navy J's, and somewhere on North Beach was Tubba, but there was no Rylee anywhere. (_"Yes, that's fine. I'll help," she agreed absent-mindedly and Cricket thanked her and left.)_ Where could she have gone that even The Creator couldn't sense her?

Blood roared through Reeth's ears as her eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, her expression going from worried to aghast in seconds. Her realization was an awful one, but so painfully obvious in its own way. The Creator couldn't feel a Raposa who was dead.

Common sense on the backburner, Reeth sprinted toward where she had painted Oz in that picture. If anyone knew whether or not someone was dead, it would be Oz. It was what he was designed for, after all. The white Rapo slammed past Jowee, their shoulders knocking together. Although she encountered some resistance and thought she might lose her balance, Jowee was the one who fell. "Hey!" He cried after her, but his goggles had flown off and he had to snatch them up before he could pursue her. By that time all she was was a faint 'Sorry!' in the distance, so he just grumbled a little and kept up his hunt.

She skidded to a stop at the stage's steps, where she found herself staring at a paw that was a clear signal to stop. "Slow down, Reeth. You'll hurt yourself on the stairs," said Oz, sounding dimly amused but more tired than anything. His keys jangled on his belt as he flipped his paw over, holding it out to her to help her up the steps. Reeth stared at it warily for all of a split second before she ignored it and made her way onto the stage. Oz's smile grew a little meeker as his eyes grew a little livelier. He withdrew the offending appendage without saying a word.

The Creator was not sure how to break the ice with this Raposa she had created, so she came right out and said it. "Is Nymph dead?"

"Do you not feel her, Reeth?" Now his mouth fell flat and his eyes danced, boring into her own with a look she could barely describe. It was animalistic and amused, some sort of bloodlust mixed with an indiscernible emotion. Saying the white Raposa was frightened by that gaze was an understatement. She was terrified, horror-struck, weak-at-the-knees, scared out of her fur. Was Oz supposed to have these sorts of emotions? Was he supposed to know she could sense other Raposa? Reeth knew he wasn't, and then she wondered what went wrong with him.

Still, she pursed her lips and pushed away the panic. "I cannot. Is she dead?" Her voice was forceful, imploring the blond Rapo to answer the question. Minutes passed, and in that time, his expression returned to hollow eyes and an emotionless smile.

"Why, I don't know, Reeth. Why don't you check for yourself?" That was a load of rapo and they both knew it. Oz thumbed a key on his belt, a shiny silver one with a plastic black top, and it caused a chain reaction of jingles that made Reeth's ears twitch. While this was happening, The Creator wondered what to do.

_Oz isn't going to just tell me, for whatever reason, but I have to know if Nymph is okay. He's obviously planning something, so I probably shouldn't take up his offer, which is no doubt to send me through that gate again. Thisisnotgood. I still have to know, I __**must**__ know._ Slowly, Reeth nodded. "Okay, Oz. Unlock the gate." His smile twitched into something larger for a moment, but it was gone quickly. Taking the black-topped key off his belt, he thrust it into the air, and clicked it to the right.

The gate appeared, in all its demon-esque glory, exquisite in craftsmanship even though she had not designed it. It opened to its nothingness, and suddenly Reeth wondered why this didn't cause Raposa to shout and stare in wonder. She glanced around, seeing Navy J a short distance away, but he didn't even look at the dark portal that appeared out of nowhere. "He can't see it, Reeth. Now, go on. Satiate your curiosity," Oz said, eyes half-lidded, mouth quirked. Cautiously, she flicked her wrist for no apparent reason.

His eyes flashed, but he said nothing, not even as Reeth walked into the blackness and a faint glow surrounded her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Wow, I just cannot let this thing die. Two years later? Sure, have another chapter. Love y'all!**

_Backdoor_

_ Creeeeeeeeeaaak_.

The gate shut behind her with a mighty noise that reverberated through the silence and faded out. Reeth hadn't heard that last time, but maybe it was just because she was more focused on what she was going into than what was happening behind her. The gaping blackness was somehow less terrifying this time around, the darkness a little less all-consuming. The white Rapo stepped forward. "YEEP!" She jumped back, startled. Her foot had touched wetness, freezing cold water that rippled out with a faint sheen and illuminated everything for a brief second.

Everything was white when it wasn't pitch black. The water had shown that much, and to see what else she could see, Reeth hesitantly dipped her foot in the water again. The ripple went out, encompassing everything with light, and she realized it wasn't white. It was a haze; deep fog, so thick she couldn't see anything. Either way, I cannot see, so what use is it? The Creator thought, and took a few more steps into the water. It only went up to her ankles, but every time she moved, the whole place was bright and 'clear.'

The little waves, it seemed, took the faint light she radiated and magnified it. As Reeth continued wading on, looking for any sign of Nymph, she grew more and more baffled. Why didn't she know about this? She was supposed to know everything in the Raposas' world because she had designed the Raposas' world. These small worlds of Oz's; who had made them? Oz couldn't have because he didn't have the power of creation, but then again, by that judgment, only she herself could have. "I know I didn't, though," Reeth murmured. "Could they have possibly occurred naturally?"

Sobbing broke her train of thought. It was terrible, the sobbing of some hysteric girl. "Nonono," moaned the crier, and her wails rose to shrill, shrieking heights. "IDON'TWANTTOBEDEAD!" Reeth's fur stood on end and her ears flattened down. The atmosphere changed dramatically from the inoffensive air from earlier to an almost infectious panic. Almost infectious. Recognizing Nymph's voice even through its harshness, the white Raposa started toward the noise.

Because of the fog, she thought it might be hard to determine the origin of the screams, but it was actually fairly easy. An orange light shone through the mist, and the sounds radiated very plainly from there. Reeth almost didn't want to approach, except that she was The Creator. It was her job to help Raposa in need, even the ones that took on undesigned (at least by herself) features. "Nymph?" She called softly, but she received only wails in reply. "Nymph, please calm down," the Rapo continued to wade forward, and her toes scuffed against land. Stepping forward onto the dryness, all the light faded away, leaving the orange light- no, a small flame –burning in front of her. More startling was the auburn glow that appeared when the illumination dispersed.

Nymph was crouched there, making inhuman noises, screeching about not wanting to be dead. Her chocolate hair cascaded down in waves, obscuring her face, but her ears! Their tips were on fire! It was the orange of the Eternal Flame, a comforting color and delicious warmth spreading from them, or rather spreading from Nymph. It was practically angelic. "Nymph, please calm down," Reeth repeated, kneeling down to pet her back comfortingly.

For a moment, The Creator was worried that the Wilfre-incident would happen again, but quite the opposite came to pass. Warmth spread through her veins, and Nymph, too, calmed considerably. The fan girl looked up with her button eyes and stared. "You're The Creator," she whispered, her voice awe-filled.

"Yes," Reeth confirmed and spoke on softly, "What happened to you, Nymph?"

Mouth agape, Nymph seemed to collect her thoughts. She was infinitely loyal to The Creator (and Navy J, but she had always had a habit of latching on to things), and having her here, talking to her, was extremely nerve-wracking, especially for someone who had gone through a hysteric fit not a minute ago (and was perhaps still on edge). "Oh my rapo. I-I- Oh, rapo! I wuh-was, I was just walking around the stage and then I saw this flower in the tree and I wanted it fuh-for my hair and it was neh-near the very tuh-tuh-tuh-top an-and, oh RAPO, I fell out of the tree!" She wailed, but as Reeth rubbed her back, she grew peaceable again.

"Next?" The Creator prompted gently, eyes rimmed with wetness. It was true. Nymph was dead.

She nodded, peering at Reeth through tear-blurred eyes. "I ha-ha-hadn't realized It," Nymph spat the it with such terror but continued on with no reminder, "and then a wuh-weird Raposa led me through a guh-guh-guh-gate and put me here and that was fine. I was juh-just a little sad that Navy J wasn't huh-here, ya know?" The white Rapo nodded sympathetically. "Then, ah-ah-after awhile, I stuh-started hearing, like, chains rah-rattling across the ground and it was wih-wih-wih-Wilfre! I guh-got so scared and he stuh-started telling me things. Weird thuh-things about how ya-you don't control ev-everything and how I'm duh-duh-duh-DEAD!"

"Nymph," Reeth said steadily, calmly. "Please don't be scared, but you are dead. I do not control the realm of death because I did not create this place." Nymph gave a panicky breath, but the more she was petted, the more tranquil she became.

"If you don't, then who duh-does?" The brunette asked, eyes wide.

That is the million coin question. It would have to be someone as strong as or stronger than I am, she mused, and the thought was so alien that she stood. "I do not know. I apologize, Nymph, I truly do. If it's not too much trouble, where did Wilfre come from?" She wanted to see him before she left, to see if he had any answers. If she was lucky, he would, but if she wasn't, the worst that would happen is she that she would get to see her love.

Nymph rose too, and trotted forward a bit. "It's called a buh-backdoor. I don't know how I know that," she frowned, "but a-anyway, it's toward the middle of this place, in the tree. Duh-don't know how I know that either." Reeth nodded, absorbing this information. "The middle is that way," she pointed, glad to be of use, and then something strange happened. A little fireball sputtered to life from her outstretched digit and floated forward. It bobbed there. Perplexed, Reeth took a step forward, but it moved away from her.

Something zinged through the air, a heat of such passion and strength that The Creator almost stumbled. It was such a feeling, such a powerful, powerful feeling, and Reeth felt its warmth soak into her like she was a sponge. This feeling, she knew, was hope, and where had it come from in such quality and quantity? Reeth looked back to Nymph.

"A lantern for guidance," the brunette said with so much confidence and radiating that beautiful hope that it was hard to believe she had had that trauma-induced stutter. She blinked, realizing how odd it was, but she seemed to be at peace now. "Don't ask. I just don't know," Nymph mumbled, but she smiled widely, the side effect of feeling better. A little confused but happy Nymph was happy, Reeth returned the smile and started wading after the little flame.

As she did so, she called over her shoulder. "Thank you." The other's response was quiet and went unheard, even with Reeth's giant ears.

("Good luck with Wilfre, Creator. You're going to need it butohthat'ssodramaticallycute!")

The lantern, a miniature Eternal Flame in every way, did well in its job. It burned its way through the fog and was visible no matter what, and The Creator followed it cheerfully. While the fog was oppressive, having something so warm to guide her relaxed the atmosphere, although having something to follow was a new feeling to her. Reeth didn't much mind; new could be good sometimes, after all. It was when the flame exploded that she got a bit worried.

BANG! Bits and pieces of flame flew everywhere as the white Raposa held in an undignified squeal. The embers pieced themselves into a circle and flared into six small fires. As she looked on, she realized the fire circle had cleared the fog away from around a rickety, leafless tree. While the tree itself was unimpressive, it emitted a powerful energy, much like gates did. Reeth made her way out of the water, but the tree remained illuminated because of the flames. Unsure of how to go about opening a backdoor, she tapped the thin trunk with a hesitant paw and thought of Wilfre.

Fortunately for Reeth, that was how the backdoor worked. Unfortunately for her, she was immediately sent whirling through what felt like the roots of the tree, and for an instant, she was connected to every Raposa that had ever died. She felt their realms, saw a flash of them, all with fire-tipped ears or ice-tipped ears but some were wrongsomehadblack-

tippedearsandflashesoftreesandonelargetreeandblacknessandallwrongnessitwasnotlikeitwassupposedtobebecausethe_ n_ e.

She was spit out of the tree in Wilfre's cell, and the information she had learned while she was going through the backdoor faded like a dream- more quickly than a dream. Reeth took a few heaving breaths, feeling like she'd just been drowned. What was that? She wondered, pulling herself to her feet. Her ears perked as she heard a chain rattle across the barren blackness of the ground. Clink-tink-clink. Although she knew he was now there, Wilfre didn't say anything, didn't give a hint to his presence aside from his chain clattering across the ground. When he didn't speak up, Reeth did. "I know you are here, Wilfre. You can come out. I have a few questions for you."

Simultaneously snickering and revealing himself, Wilfre walked into the range of the dim light she gave off. "What makes you believe I would answer your questions, you disturbed little Creator?" His arrogance was showing because he knew something she wanted to know the answer to, Reeth figured that much out right away. What he actually knew might be a little harder to get out.

"I have not a clue. I suppose I just have some faith in you," The Creator smiled pleasantly at him, and that seemed to annoy the ice-spirit Rapo.

His mouth twisted into a suiting but not particularly attractive snarl. "You're an idiot for putting your faith into someone who doesn't love you back," Wilfre spat, and his chain rattled as he came a little closer and then backed away, seeming to remember what had happened last time. "Even if you love me, why bother coming to ask me questions?"

"You're sweet," Reeth said in one of her rare sarcastic tones. "Would you rather I ask you frivolous questions about your personality or past that I already know the answer to for love? Wilfre, I know you, and as such, I know that you love it that I'm here. You love it that you know something that I do not, and you are going to make me work for it. Would you rather I get down on my knees and beg now or later?" She didn't really intend to beg, but the look on Wilfre's face told her he was taking the offer seriously.

He was smirking now, a hint of shining white teeth peeking from behind his lips. "Oh, would you? Now, preferably."

"I was not being serious," Reeth stated forcefully, and she frowned as Wilfre's smirk grew larger, revealing that he still had that smidge of fang that was a recessively drawn trait among Raposa.

"All the better. Do it and I might give you a hint," he said smugly, a digit twisting around the chain attached to his neck in what Reeth assumed was anticipation. There was a certain tremor to his paw that she could just barely see, but it was there. Why he wanted to see this so badly he was shaking, The Creator had no idea, but she figured she might as well indulge him. Slowly, giving him a flat look that clearly said she was not amused, the white Raposa went down on her knees. Her hair, long and white, touched the ground when she was fully lowered, and while she maintained eye-contact with Wilfre, a curious emotion started stealing across his face.

It was different than any look the gray Rapo had ever given her, a strange sort of hunger. Lust, Reeth's mind supplied, and her face immediately flooded bright red. She got out what she wanted to say quickly after that, not wanted to stay kneeling for much longer. "Wilfre, please, please, please tell me who's made this place. You're so intelligent and you would obviously know who it was. I was an idiot for trying to figure it out myself," Reeth practically jumped to her feet as she finished the last word. Begging made her uncomfortable. She was not supposed to beg, but since it was for something so gravely important and it had made Wilfre look at her like that, in such a nice, embarrassing way.

The spirit Raposa was much more compliant now, although his mildly flustered, lusty expression faded rapidly (much to Reeth's chagrin) as he set out to taunt her and insult her. "You really have no idea? No clue? You're really as much of an idiot as he is then, and that's not a long shot anyway. Well, since you begged so nicely, Creator, I'll tell you. You have no power here. Your ability to effect the world doesn't work here because it isn't yours, but you already figured that out, didn't you? You were so arrogant, though, that you doubted it was the only person it could possibly be. Oz! But of course not, one of your creations couldn't have rewritten Death as you thought it was, could they have?"

Of course. She'd suspected, she'd known it, of course Oz was the one. Reeth had given him such power as The Jailer; such magic, spawned from her own, was enough to create such a different Death than she had pictured. Oz ruled over Death now, but why had he done it? "Wilfre, do you know if he is going to do something dangerous?"

Wilfre gave his derisive little laugh. "He's already done it. You're trapped here, Creator, all for that panicked little brat."


End file.
